Every Piece of You
by ShineSomeLight
Summary: A series of one-shots analyzing Artie and Tina's relationship via the "superficial" aspects.
1. Chapter 1: Hands

**Author's note:** I know it's been awhile since I've written anything; unfortunately I got sort of distracted and bogged down with various life things (don't you hate when that happens?). I guess the second half of Season 1 of "Glee" finaly starting up got me inspired, so here's some new work! Please, try to contain your excitement. ;)

This idea has actually been floating around in my head for awhile. As much as I love "Glee", unfortunately the writers have favored some characters at the expense of others, which results in the audience not knowing a whole lot about the true nature of those neglected characters. Two such characters, in my mind, are Tina and Artie. We don't know much about them outside of some basic, superficial details: Artie's in a wheelchair and appears to have an affinity for hip-hop music, Tina dresses like a pseudo-goth and faked a stutter for a reasonable amount of time. That's pretty much it. Not many details exist outside of that. So I decided to put together a series of little vignettes that elaborate on the relationship between these two based on those simple items, via the parts of their bodies associated with those items (for example, Tina's streaked hair) - you know, take the one-dimensional stuff and make it something substantial. I hope that I explained that sufficiently, ha! And I also hope this entire little ordeal goes over well!

As you're told over and over again, reviews are **always** greatly appreciated (soooo much thanks goes to those who have been kind enough to review already! 3 ), so let the constructive criticism fly! Also, I have some ideas for topics for future chapters (i.e., legs, hair, etc.), but since the length of this series has yet to be determined, I'm open for suggestions--share your ideas if you so desire!

So, in short (too late for that?): read, enjoy, and if you're so inclined, review! Thanks for your time, hope you like it!

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Chapter 1: Hands

Artie is overprotective of his hands—not out of pride or shame, but necessity.

He understands the drastic importance of his hands as an individual who doesn't have the luxury of mobility via his legs. His friends and peers can sprint to their classes to avoid being late, stand on tip-toe to reach items just out of their reach, crouch down until seated if they wanted to place themselves on the floor, dig in their heels and stop short to avoid colliding with each other in the hallways of McKinley High School. Artie didn't have the luxury of using his legs to their fullest potential. Because they sit prostrate below his waist, his upper extremities have to do the jobs of four limbs—and at the forefront of that constant endeavor are his hands. Within those ten digits he has to find the strength of two sturdy thighs, two resilient knees, two durable calves, and two solid feet.

His hands are the only thing bridging the gap between functionality (or at least the maximum amount of functionality he could achieve) and complete futility. It was a bit ironic, though: Artie needs his hands to survive, but using them so intensely drove them ever deeper into a state of corrosion. Pushing those cold metal rims all day resulted in calluses and blisters that his gloves couldn't always protect against. The friction of the rubber wheels against his hands burned red-hot streaks across his palms. Rain would pelt his hands, soaking them to an uncomfortable point. The winter was the worst, because the cold of an Ohio chill was unrelenting, numbing his fingers and stabbing deep into the joints of his digits. Every day his hands suffer abuses others don't understand just so he can live a "normal" life.

But being Artie Abrams, he never complains or wishes for a body that wasn't quite so broken. Instead, he recognizes and appreciates the tasks his hands perform, and guards those hands as best he can. When he wasn't using them to propel himself (quite literally) through his life, he kept those precious tools folded in his lap, curled up into himself and away from the damaging world hovering outside his wheelchair. Whatever rest they got was welcome and necessary. He grew to become very cautious of any activity that might further strain the muscles and ligaments stretched from his wrist to his fingertips. Did he _need_ to grasp or pull or push? Was it absolutely essential? If not, then Artie would refrain and avoid it. The risk of exhaustion or injury was enough reason to abstain.

Artie has the tendency of absentmindedly pressing his thumb into the pad of the palm of his opposite hand, rubbing in small, deep circles to knead some relief into the fleshy patch. Without being conscious of it, his body would try to heal itself, doing its best to safeguard the skills and strengths it still possessed. When one hand received its respite, they would switch, the refreshed thumb working on the opposite hand.

Artie himself may not have been aware of this habit, but Tina noticed. She spotted it once during New Directions practice while Rachel was belting out one of her many solos. She saw his thumb gently but firmly knead the mass of the palm, then move on to the rough calluses at the base of each finger. She knew that she couldn't identify with his exact pain, but she was familiar with the ache of overused muscles, and she felt the corners of her mouth turn downward as she realized that nearly every minute of his day caused him some sort of discomfort that couldn't be avoided. As a girl who cared deeply for Artie, in more ways than one, she felt the want to relieve his pain suddenly wash over her that afternoon.

So as soon as she got the chance, she did what no one else dared or thought to do: She touched his hands.

It was an atypical quiet lunch for the two of them, with their usual partners, Kurt and Mercedes, skipping the second half of school to cause their own sort of chaos at a remarkable sale at the local mall. With their sandwiches eaten, Artie and Tina proceeded to catch each other up on their individual lives, sharing anecdotes of amusing family incidents. While Tina was recounting the previous night's dinnertime debacle resulting from an adventurous-but-unappetizing recipe choice of her father's, her eyes slid towards to the section of the table directly in front of Artie, where his hands were resting. Sure enough, his right thumb was rubbing the palm of his left hand, trying to ease out the day's aches.

Without pausing her story, Tina reached across the distance between them, gently took Artie's left hand out of the grasp of his right, and with both of her thumbs, began to massage it.

Artie's attention immediately shifted from Tina's quiet but enthused voice to her actions. He was taken aback at her thoughtfulness. She would frequently push his wheelchair through the hallways of the high school to give his arms a rest, but this was a whole new level of kindness. After a few minutes of smoothly working the stress out of his left hand, she made sure his right hand got the same treatment. Before Artie could stifle his shock and address the sweet and touching act his best friend had performed, the bell rang and Tina was a streak of black hair whisking her way behind his wheelchair to take them both to their shared fifth period class.

This was the first time Tina caressed Artie's hands with the intent of relieving whatever pain she could, but it was far from the last. Not only did she make it part of her lunchtime ritual (she disregarded the glances Mercedes and Kurt would pass to each other when her hands cradled Artie's), but she would find herself grasping his hands in her own during any acceptable moment when they were both still. Tina saw the strain that Artie had to suffer simply to make it through one day and into the next. She wanted to do what she could to eradicate that suffering.

She wanted her own hands to help bear the weight of his.


	2. Chapter 2: Legs

**Author's Note: **An extremely heartfelt thank you is due to all of you out there who reviewed Chapter 1, added this story to their list of alerts, or just plain took the time to read the first chapter. As most of you are aware of, it's an incredible compliment when anyone appreciates your stories in any way whatsoever, so I really need to issue some serious thanks to y'all for that! =) And now I get to be all nervous about anything after Chapter 1 being decent, haha!

This chapter is a bit shorter than the first, but hopefully it still hits its mark. I'm all ears (eyes?) for any constructive criticism you're willing to dish out or suggestions for future chapters, so share it if you got it! Once again, thanks so much for you time, and I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!

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In high school, it's easy for young women to get caught up in appearance, especially in terms of weight. For whatever reason, once you become old enough to understand clothing sizes, thin automatically becomes synonymous with the word "attractive." If you're skinny, you're pretty. If you're not skinny, then you _must_ be fat, and therefore your worth is drastically diminished. There's no complicated grey area between these extremes to confuse the thinking process of teenage girls. Skinny is the only acceptable option. It tends to be a universal fact across the United States, and Lima, Ohio is no exception.

Tina is fortunate in that she never fell into that dangerous manner of thinking. Maybe it was thanks to her parents always stressing how her real worth isn't reliant on her outward appearance, or maybe she was able to discern how this tunnel-vision method of defining merit was completely ridiculous as soon as the girls in her grammar school began to compare their own bodies to the trainer-and-personal-chef-produced bodies of their favorite actresses and singers. It didn't really matter how it happened. The important thing was Tina actually kind of really likes her body.

Sure, her waist isn't as small as the other girls in town and every now and then she wishes her biceps didn't jiggle as much when she waves, but when all is said and done, she enjoys her curves. Having a fuller body makes her feel confident. Sometimes when she observes the Cheerios sashaying down the hallways in their chest-hugging tops and too-short skirts, she can't help but think to herself how they look, well, fragile, especially their legs. She found it hard to believe those overly lean legs could hold the weight of the upper half of their bodies, let alone do all of those jumps and leaps. It seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Tina's legs are full and smooth and strong, and when it came down to it, they are her favorite part of her body. That's why she tends to wear skirts and those big, clunky boots of hers: She's trying to draw attention to her zaftig thighs and calves. Tina sees no need to hide her legs—she is proud of them. She wants people to look at them. It's her quiet way of bragging about how satisfied she is with how she looks.

Although he keeps it to himself, Artie is a fan of Tina's legs, too.

Losing the use of his own legs made Artie overly attentive of other's. It was the whole "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone" adage brought to life: He admires it when people recognize the beauty of their legs and all the things those limbs make possible. Because of Artie's eye level from his wheelchair, he really has no choice but to pay more attention to legs than those who are busy walking upright. He never understood why females are so intent on making their bodies so skinny—it was blasphemous. To Artie, healthy legs mean strength, and to deliberately reduce the size of your legs until they became twig-like was a ridiculous sacrifice of that strength.

It's a bit ironic, because while Artie has a special sort of reverence for legs, people tend to avoid his. It is ludicrous that they act like paralysis is contagious, not to mention somewhat insulting and hurtful. His legs, while rendered useless in the typical sense, are nothing to fear, yet people are predisposed to be uncomfortable when they get too close to his lifeless limbs.

But not Tina.

If they were sitting next to each other—and usually that was exactly where they found themselves—Tina would often rest her foot on one of the short metal pieces that jutted sideways from each of the front wheels of Artie's chair. It was a natural reaction. Her foot would make its way next to his without hesitation, each of their knees angled towards the other. She wasn't nervous to get close to his legs. To look down and see one of her soft, feminine thighs within inches of his khaki-covered knee is a privilege Artie always recognizes.

Every time her legs are in close proximity to his, Artie feels a bit flattered. Her legs are wonderful and beautifully solid, everything those limbs should be, and just having them close to his makes him feel like his legs are a real part of his body again, even if his nerves may say differently.

And when it comes down to it, Artie thinks Tina's legs are pretty enjoyable to observe in any other situation, too. He is a teenage boy, after all.


	3. Chapter 3: Hair

**Author's Note:** As usual, I owe manyyyyy thanks to all of you out there who reviewed/set alerts for this story. It never stops being amazing, for real. 3 I'm sorry it took so long for me to get a third chapter up. I had to deal with a lovely little virus rendering my computer useless (fun times), but now I have a shiny, new computer, so we're back in business! I also have another idea working for Chapter 4, so I'm crossing my fingers that it won't take me as long to write Chapter 4. OK, no super-long ramblings this time - I really hope you enjoy Chapter 3!

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A wave of crimson slushie smattered into the ceramic locker room sink. Tina wrung the hand towel out and brought it back up to her face, swiping it downward across her features with such a force that the friction of the soft fibers burned her skin on the way towards her chin.

Today was definitely not her day.

The sunshine that greeted her groggy eyes when she first woke this morning was a false omen of the day ahead. Within milliseconds, Tina went from appreciating the warm rays of early fall to leaping from her bed, adrenaline pumping at the realization that she woke up almost an hour later than usual-apparently, although she remembered to set her alarm, she forgot to turn it on, which is a pretty crucial step. She was a whirlwind of panic, hurrying to get herself presentable and out the door as quickly as possible.

Jetting through the doors of William McKinley High School about 20 seconds after the late bell resonated throughout the halls, Tina's day didn't exactly hit an upswing. Instead, it began its descent into even more stress. After enduring a disappointed glare and slight chastising from her homeroom teacher, she noticed a sizeable tear in the thigh of the one pair of black tights she was actually trying to keep in one piece. Well, she sighed to herself, that's what she got for oversleeping and getting dressed in such a hurry.

During the rest of her day, a myriad of unforeseen upsets hit her in waves: A pop quiz in French in which she knew the answer to only half the questions. An atypical clumsy trip that send her knees careening into the ground while her books slid down the hall, spraying papers everywhere and earning her some cruel snickers from a few nameless students. A lunch consisting of Cheetos and a can of Sprite, seeing as how both her pre-made lunch and back-up lunch money where resting safely on her kitchen counter. And, to add insult to injury, an oral presentation about the Civil War. Her stutter couldn't even get her out of this one-Tina's history teacher made her finish the entire thing instead of showing mercy and letting Tina cut it short, which extended her presentation for 4 torturous extra minutes.

Just as the negativity crowding her mind began to lift at the thought of the weekend lying right beyond the final bell, reality sent her crashing down to Earth. The final period of the day ended, and like the rest of the student body, Tina headed out the door and towards her locker with revived vigor. However, unlike everyone else, her plans were derailed when an unexpected blast of a cold, chunky substance was launched unceremoniously into her face. She stumbled to a halt, getting a mental hold of what happened. The masculine laughter and vicious comments about her "freak show hair" echoing through the crushed ice that coated her ears clued her in quickly: The football players threw a slushie on her. Again. Tina dejectedly swiped the frozen particles away from her eyes, giving herself back the gift of sight. Doing all she could to hide her embarrassment, she changed course of direction and steered herself to the girl's locker room, hoping the artificial coloring of the cherry drink disguised the blush of shame and frustration heating her cheeks from the innumerable pairs of eyes watching her.

Now here she was, posed over the sink in a defiant stance, the humiliation now entirely replaced with anger. Tina looked up at the mirror to meet her own glare. She noticed a change in posture as she made a very important decision: She was done with today. It had delivered enough little "gifts" that barely left her standing, and now she was finished with it. She was going to go home and close herself in her room until the calendar caught up to her resolve and tomorrow officially shoved today to the past, never to be seen from again. She gave herself one more hasty look in the mirror, concluding her haphazard clean-up was decent enough. Time to grab her bag from her locker and leave McKinley as fast as her legs would carry her.

She pulled open the locker room door with an abnormal amount of force, determination still driving her. She marched three steps forward before she realized that, despite the school day now being long over, she wasn't alone in the hallway. Artie Abrams was a few feet in front of her, zipping up his messenger bag and closing his locker. They weren't exactly close, but they had a few classes together, which allowed them to establish a cordial, bordering-on-friendly rapport during these first few weeks of high school. Her loud footsteps drew his attention, his eyes looking up at her. His initial happiness at seeing her was quickly replaced by a confused furrowing of his brow, then a look of comprehension. Tina, remembering all the times she spied the jocks bullying Artie in all their immature glory, knew that he must've put two and two together and figured out the story behind her syrup-streaked face.

"W-w-what are you still doing here?," she asked, genuinely surprised she wasn't the only student traipsing the hallways at this time on a Friday afternoon.

"I borrowed a CD from one of the guys in the A.V. Club earlier this week, I needed to return it," Artie replied. "I'd ask what you're doing here, but I think I might have it figured out."

Tina's gaze fell down to her shoes, her shoulders raising in a shrug of agreement. "Apparently I did something to annoy the f-f-football players. Guess I was breathing too loudly or something. Slushie b-baths seem to be the c-cure for that, and they're not shy about spreading the news." She almost forgot to keep up her stutter. Something about Artie made it easy to talk to him, despite them only sporadically interacting with each other.

"Don't worry about it, every day they find someone new to rag on. It's barely October and I've lost count of all the places they've locked me into. If you're not a jock or a Cheerio, you're fair game. You get used to it."

Tina held up the stained face towel she still had grasped in her fist. "Yeah, they're n-not exactly creative. Started carrying a towel in my b-bag after the second time they d-d-dumped something on me."

"See? Their predictability is the silver lining. Maybe we should write them a thank you card for being so considerate." They shared a quick, light laugh.

"Well, I better go. My Mom gets a bit nervous if I'm too late meeting her outside when she comes to pick me up. Like I said, I lost count of all the times I've been 'involuntarily detained.'" Artie placed each hand onto a wheel of his chair.

"Alright," Tina said, only vaguely acknowledging the disappointment she felt at the thought of their conversation ending. "See you Monday." She slowly turned on her heels.

Artie threw one last glance in Tina's direction, and at the last second his eyes landed on something caught on one of her cyan streaks, right near her shoulder. He stalled himself before his hands had begun propelling his wheels forward.

"Wait," he said, and Tina immediately stopped in place. He rolled slightly forward so she was back within his reach and extended his right hand towards her hair. "You missed a little bit." His fingers stroked downward on one piece in particular, removing the little chunk of ice Tina had missed in her haste. The ice fell to the floor, but the artificial dye left a trail of color behind, the red masking the blue of her hair and creating an indigo hue.

A smile slid across Artie's mouth. "Huh. Your hair looks purple now." He fingered the offending strand of hair with his pointer and thumb. "It's pretty. I mean that in the manliest way possible, of course." He stared purposefully at her over the upper rim of his glasses, eyebrows raised, trying to convey his seriousness.

Tina fought to suppress the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Of course."

His mouth now sported a repressed smile that matched hers. "Well, now that that's settled, I'm on my way. Have a good weekend, Tina."

"You too," she replied, only allowing herself a second to watch him wheel away before she turned around.

Tina walked slowly yet steadily in the direction of her locker. Aware of the butterflies flitting around her stomach, she noticed the late afternoon sun painting the hallway floors in a bright shade of gold. So Artie liked the way purple looked in her hair. Once again she felt her cheeks flush, but this time she enjoyed the sensation.

Hmm. She'd have to remember that.


End file.
